Joke
by Aychaijaykayelemenopy
Summary: A jester, a ghost, a horse and a dragon slayer walk into an inn. DB/Cicero, DB/Farkas, minor DB/Vilkas
1. Allow Me To Entertain

**Prologue: Allow Me To Entertain**

A jester, a ghost, a horse and a dragon slayer walk into an inn.

The innkeeper says that they look like an odd crowd and asks what each of them wants.

The jester says he wants to kill someone.

The innkeeper laughs and says that he can't.

The ghost says he wants someone worthy to use his blade against.

The innkeeper scowls and says that he can't.

The horse says he wants to trample the inn into Oblivion.

The innkeeper laughs and says that he can't.

The dragon slayer says that she wants less homicidal company.

The innkeeper smirks and offers her "more intimate company".

The jester slits the innkeeper's throat.

The ghost stabs a famous mercenary who comes to his aid.

The horse mashes his hooves in fury at everyone else in the inn.

The dragon slayer downs a mug of mead and sighs.

"I never get what I want."


	2. Only a Jest

**A/N:** So, I realized that I wrote a whole bunch and this chapter is almost along the lines of 2,000 words. It really seems like a lot to read. Too much to read, in fact. I'd appreciate it if someone let me know if I should break my chapters down a bit. I have a specific plan for the direction of the story but I'm flexible about length and such. Something tells me that this story is gonna be a long one, in part because I love all the characters and can't help but digress and in part because I have had writer's block for over three years and it's finally gone!

**Chapter 1: Only a Jest**

Dagger twirling in her hands, vein pulsating from her forehead and eyes pulled into slits spitting venom, Cicero was getting on Fontina's last nerve. His little 'display of respect' at the inn, as he called it, earned her quite a bit of unwanted attention from the guards and almost cost her a kill in Falkreath. His stupid little ditties almost botched her sneak attack and overtook her thoughts as he sang them over and over on the way back to the Sanctuary. Above all, he had refused to leave her side since and was currently rummaging through an old chest of hers from her early days in the Brotherhood, probably messing up what little of her past life she kept in there.

"Oh, Listener! Listener! Such pretty, pretty dresses you own! You must look very, very pretty in them, no doubt. For the mighty, great and all-powerful Listener, savior of the Dark Brotherhood, slayer of many is really the most beautiful woman in allllllll of Tamriel! Next to the ravishing Night Mother, of course!"

'_Oh, __here __we __go__…'_ Fontina inwardly groaned. She hated compliments. Even compliments on her prowess in battle were annoying. And, of course, Cicero knew that and was definitely prepared to exploit that.

It wasn't the first time that Cicero had sent her into a fit of sizzling anger and it most certainly wouldn't be the last but it was more of a habit than anything between the two since the start of their travels together. It was a game: to see if he could get her to smile or get her to spar with him. Neither seemed to be on the horizon, though. Fontina had work to do.

"But, ah, Cicero knows! Understanding Cicero understands! It is no wonder you never put them on. Wouldn't want to stain them with anything…say, thick and…red from your travels! And Cicero doesn't speak of wine, you know!" Cicero chuckled, sprawling Fontina's old tunics and gowns across her bed.

"The lady chants and lady laughs when a gentleman does knock!

But when my blade runs through her frock, the lady gasps and strains to talk!"

Fontina didn't even bother to turn around. Seeing the messy state of her newly furnished room might send her into a rage she probably couldn't control.

It had cost her a pretty penny to refurnish the old, dilapidated Dawnstar Sanctuary. The place was vast and practically endless, torn apart by expected age and a more so unexpected troll. Nearly every coin she made from the slaying of the Emperor went into Delvin Mallory's grubby pocket, but Fontina wasn't complaining. The place looked better than any palace or hall she'd ventured into once he was through with it and she was satisfied that she decided to trust him despite his past dealings with Astrid. Anything involving Astrid understandably left Fontina more than slightly guarded, despite the woman's repentant attitude at her death. One could never know if there were any loose ends she'd forgotten to tie up.

A clank from her bedside almost made her turn around but again she checked herself, toying with the dagger a bit more. Cicero had found her collection of amulets. Oh joy.

"Cicero, leave those be. If I so much as notice a scratch on any one of my amulets, I might slip in a contract on you to one of the new recruits." Fontina warned. As she spoke, a few missives stacked together sat beside her on the table. She was really supposed to be organizing and verifying them before handing them over to Nazir, but instead she was stuck babysitting.

"My Listener is no fun at all!" He pouted, twisting an Amulet of Talos around his finger. "But it would be a lot of fun for Cicero to have a new…hmm…toy to play around with!

"You shouldn't underestimate them. Nazir has gotten better at picking some new blood. The tests have been made more rigorous. Oh and Babbette has also brought in a few good killers too, though I had to ask her not to turn some of them into thralls. She probably didn't have this problem with Astrid…"

"Ha, and the glorious Listener cut her down! You worry over nothing. All the power and glory she wanted to keep from you now sit at your fingertips." Cicero grinned, an Amulet of Dibella laced through his fingers and an Amulet of Arkay decorating the top of his jester hat..

Fontina looked over to her Blade of Woe, carelessly tossed next to a few trinkets on her desk. It was a useful weapon indeed, but she was wary to use it after it's run in with Astrid's heart.

"She told me I was part of the family but didn't hesitate to throw me to the wolves. Were it not for her foolish actions, and were it not for my arrival, our family might've been…I don't know. Perhaps in better shape than it is now?"

"Astrid's path only led to ruin. Without the Listener, the Brotherhood is nothing. You saved the Dark Brotherhood. You murdered the Emperor. You brought purpose back to all of us, especially those led astray. The fact that you are still here shows your true value. You must know how important you are."

Fontina turned to look at his face, her gray eyes searching for something real. For a moment, she could swear she almost saw something in Cicero's eyes that could be considered concerned…and serious. It wasn't new to find Fontina questioning her worth in the world but it was certainly a new thing to have someone try to make her feel better. She offered a bit of a smile and nodded her head. Maybe there was still something human in him after all? But with a characteristic whoop and a shifting of gaze from one spot to another, Fontina realized yet again that she was still conversing with a madman.

"Mother? Mother, is that you I hear? Ah! It's mother! Mother! Oh, dearest mother! Are you calling me? Say something once more! Let poor Cicero hear your voice as the Listener does!" he cried, only to be met with no reply.

At least the mess wasn't as bad as she'd initially thought. Yet, anyway.

Fontina turned around and decided to finally begin her work. Now that she was around to converse with the Night Mother, there was really no need to pick up contracts in the old way. Those performing the Black Sacrament were now heard and answered but there were still few who weren't into the dramatics of the ritual and sent their business through couriers and contacts. Part of Fontina thought it would be wise to ignore them but Nazir suggested otherwise and the Night Mother gave no protest as long as the contacts she gave were heard. Business was booming on both ends after the Emperor's death. So much so that she had to neglect her other duties and titles to stay close to the Brotherhood for a while.

"Ah, Looky look at what we have here! Oh ho ho! An Amulet of Mara!"

Fontina seemed frozen at the mention. She was positively ill at the mention. Her hands refused to move, her eyes refused to blink and she swallowed a huge lump in her throat that held back a burst of emotion. She didn't know what to feel and she didn't know how to react but...it had been so long since she'd seen it or even remembered it. She took care long ago to forget.

"A real treasure! Haha! A real treasure, indeed."

"I was a mage. It was once…very useful." Her voice was beginning to crack.

"Does the Listener peg Cicero for a fool? Haha! Well, that is not entirely truthful. My Listener knows she is not partial to using her Magika! And my Listener knows she need not lie…perhaps she was once hoping to tie the knot around something other than a noose. Ha, a blushing bride, longing for a bond of matrimony! How precious." he taunted.

"Let. It. Go." She seethed through her teeth. But the amulet swung in his grasp. Back and forth, almost hypnotizing. Her stomach turned and she tightened her grip on the dagger she once played with.

"The Listener waits to hear bells of wedding, but bells of mourning she hears,

A maiden in jewels all smirks and smiles runs down the aisle in tears!"

The dagger flew across the room faster than the eye could see, but Cicero knew to quickly turn his head. The near fatal strike of force and precise perfection only left a thin line of blood trailing across his cheek and his jester hat pinned to the headboard. He would have surly been killed in an instant were he not a seasoned assassin himself.

"CICERO!"

Fontina shot up from her seat at her desk, pulling the dagger from the headboard and snatching the swinging amulet out of his grasp. It was rare for her to raise her voice. It had taken the attack at the sanctuary in Falkreath to even get her to break her initial silence and converse freely with the others. But, to her credit, not one lone tear broke her glare. Not a grimace or a twitch. But there was pain in her eyes that could drive one to end many lives, including their own. And those eyes were glued to the amulet that moved to and fro in front of her.

"Some of us do not have the luxury of losing their minds when they've lost all else. You don't know anything. And above all, you know nothing of pain. Fool." She hissed, stuffing it into her pocket.

Babbette crept into the room, hugging the doorframe. It wasn't out of fear or cautiousness but there was a certain childlike nature in her that just led her to take such actions. No one forgot who or what she was exactly, but they knew that in simple terms she was a child who never was allowed to grow up.

"Fontina, my dear. Are you alright?" She inquired.

Fontina dropped her gaze to the floor in embarrassment and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Babbette. I shouldn't have shouted. I'm just a bit…stressed out is all." Fontina replied.

"Cicero, do be careful not to drive our Listener into a madness comparable to yours. It is already unsettling enough with your constant pranks. Two Ciceros would be highly unfavorable." Babbette chided, reaching for Fontina's hand.

"Cicero only jests!" he grinned with an innocent pout.

"Nazir was just looking for you. The last of the improvements have been made to the torture chamber. Archaic thing, it is, but since it was the last to be fixed I'd thought you'd want to see it. Would you come with me, please?" Fontina wordlessly nodded and walked away with her.

Alone, Cicero reached up and tried to wipe the blood off of his cheek. The cut stung him, but there was a stinging elsewhere he couldn't name. He wanted to wipe it away, wipe it clean but it still stained his fingers. Just like the blood. Typical. Some things never change. He closed his eyes. And then the silence began. No laughter. No tears. No words of joy or malice or welcoming or parting. Nothing. Just silence.

And then he wanted to hear the Night Mother speak. He wanted to curse his Listener. The insolent little bitch knew nothing of pain and he wanted to show her. He wanted the Listener dead and gone so that he could be Listener, just as he'd wanted before.

But then he didn't want that at all. He didn't want to hear himself think such things because he was glad to have the Listener. He was glad to know that there even was a Listener and that the Brotherhood could continue and that he could follow her and hear her laughter among all else.

And then he laughed and laughed, shaking in his laughter. He had to. It was the only way to push the silence away.


	3. The Dragonborn Who Drinks Milk

**A/N:** It's been a long time since I've written anything worthwhile and this is actually the first story posted on this new account (woo hoo!). This story will contain a few spoilers, so I suggest you play quite a bit of the game before taking a read. I'm surprised you're reading this, by the way. It's hard to tear yourself away from the amazing and addictive game that is Skyrim. I actually feel pretty bad for not playing right now, haha.

**Chapter Two: The Dragonborn Drinks Milk**

High Hrothgar wasn't Miura's first destination after her tangle with the dragon in the Western Watchtower. Blood was surging through her as well as out of her as she shuffled down the steps from Dragonsreach. Though there wasn't any way to be sure where she'd precisely been hit, there were certainly too many burns and bite marks to count and even a few misfired arrows protruding from her skin. Even Jarl Balgruuf noted the extensive wounds and not only rewarded her valor by making her Thane but suggested that she leave some of her items with her new Housecaarl, who rolled her eyes as Miura handed her a few "burdens".

Practically limping on her way out, all eyes were on her. Some of the guards felt the need to comment, telling her that she didn't look so good while stifling their chuckles as they passed her. Others kept their distance, likely fearing to meet their end by being ripped apart by a shout as their High King had. Miura kept her head down, not just in anguish but in shame as well.

'_Dragonborn…'_

It flooded her head like an echo. What did it even mean? And how could the weakest, milk-drinking whelp of the Companions possibly hold that title? Clearing a cave of rogue mages almost did her in and it wasn't even her who killed the dragon, she just absorbed its soul among the ravaged bodies of the true heroes. It didn't make much sense to her. Destiny, they said it was. Well, destiny was a funny thing. Miura Table Masher: the Dragonborn. It almost sounded like the punch line of a cruel joke.

"What the hell kind of beast chewed you up and spat you out?" Aela gasped, rushing to Miura as she collapsed in front of the doors to Jorrvaskr.

"A dragon, actually," she mumbled weakly against the floorboards, allowing Aela and Vilkas to pick her up and haul her into the living quarters.

"Dragon? Someone's had one too many blows to the head."

"It's true." Vilkas cut in, grabbing a hold of her ankles. "The watchtower is burned to the ground and some of the townsfolk went down to see the skeleton."

Aela gave no reply and instead continued to carry Miura into one of the beds downstairs. With Tilma's help she wrapped the burns and pulled out the arrowheads, Miura groaning and squirming at every move.

Day was carefully creeping into night and by that time, the blood loss had really got to her head and she slowly faded into the darkness of sleep. Tilma rushed in and out, replacing rags and water bowls of blood with cleaner ones. Vilkas slipped away pretty quickly at Njada's request, taking a bit of anxiety with him. Aela pressed down on the deeper wounds to stop the overflowing crimson but didn't want to wrap the wounds until she could put something on them to ward off infection.

"She's burning up. This is getting bad. Someone needs to pick something up from Arcadia. Could you tell Ria or Torvar to go?" Aela asked, dabbing Miura's head with a wet rag. She was still shaking in her sleep.

"They aren't here. They must have set off a few hours ago. I'm not quite sure anyone else is here either. Just us," Tilma replied, reaching for a coin purse on an end table. "I'll go."

Just then, the doors violently swung open and the hulking shadow of Farkas dimmed the already soft glow of the room. On each arm were assorted animal pelts and some minor cuts and bruises. More than likely he had returned from clearing a cave for a client and brought home some souvenirs.

"What happened?" he asked, tossing the furs somewhere across the room. Aela turned her head and sighed.

"What does it look like, ice-brain? Miura is hurt. Bad. And I think she may have already taken a turn for the worse."

"I'll go get the salve from Arcadia." Tilma chimed in, already turning on her heel to go.

"No, I'll go. You stay here and help Aela." Farkas interrupted, placing a hand on her shoulder and taking the coin purse from her hands.

"Tell her to give you something strong!" Aela called from the bedside as the wind blew through the doors to hit the fiery hearth in the hall.

"A-Am I…blind?" rasped a small voice from a mountain of covers.

Miura awoke to nothingness. She felt sore all over her body but a heavy ache across her eyes. No matter how hard she tried to open them, she found that she couldn't and reached out to the air in front of her to see what was obstructing her vision. Sensing a pale hand on top of his own, Farkas lifted the rag from over her eyes and rushed to pour her a cup of water. Miura blushed and let out a small giggle. "Oh, okay. Not blind. Good to know that wretched thing didn't blow out my eye sockets."

"You're awake. You've been out for a few days now. We didn't think you were gonna make it."

Miura tried to sit up but found that even moving an inch turned the soreness into a sharp pain and winced at the feeling. Farkas carefully tilted her head and let the rim of the cup lightly touch her cracked, swollen lips. Miura took a few gulps but moved away to give Farkas a small smile. "Thanks."

"Aela wrapped you up. I've been coming to check on you once in a while. We heard about the dragon. I still can't even believe it but Vilkas said it was true. He saw the skeleton with his own eyes, he said. So I believe him."

"Farkas…" Miura used most of the strength she had to finally pull herself up to a seating position. Though she'd whispered his name, her eyes were glued to the floor in an intense gaze. "That dragon was powerful. I watched as it tore through many great men, men greater than myself. They were the ones who took the final blow and I doubt I barely even grazed the thing. All I did was suck the soul out of it and then all of the sudden I'm some sort of mythical legend. Dragonborn."

Laughs, jeers and the sound of fist meeting flesh rang from the hall. Njada and Athis were most likely at it again. Miura sighed and took another sip from her cup, this time without Farkas' help. Farkas did not respond. He was probably trying to figure out what she was getting at.

"Can you even believe it? Me? You know me. I'm weak. I wouldn't even be a Companion were it not for you vouching for me, and we both know that you did more fighting in that cave than I did. I could see it in their eyes, those guards! They were laughing at me. They know I'm just a milk-drinker."

"I'm not too good with this kind of thing, but…you know they call me ice-brain around here. I might not be the sharpest blade on the rack but I'm no fool. I have my fists to back me up, too." At that, Miura smirked. Plenty of challengers could attest to that.

"You could've run away scared from that dragon and many others would have but you stayed and you fought. You barely made it back but you did. They can call you whatever they want. They can laugh in your face and push you around. If anyone asks me, though, I'll tell 'em straight. Miura Table Masher is no milk-drinker. She's a worthy shield sister."

Before she could say anything in reply, Vilkas walked in with an irritated expression on his face. On the contrary, Miura's expression seemed to light up a bit.

"Ah, you're awake. Are you done lounging around? Because Kodlak wants to speak to you. Sounds important."

Miura swung a leg over the side of the bed and prepared to stand up. Farkas quickly stood and offered his arm to help her balance. He didn't think it was good for her to strain herself so quickly and he knew that even the slightest motions gave her a great deal of pain, but he knew there was no stopping her. Her feet firmly planted on the floor, Miura gave not one indication that she was hurt and even suffered to smile at the nonchalant Vilkas.

"Sorry. I'll make my way there now. Thanks for letting me know, Vilkas."

Vilkas only grunted in return and turned to leave, but Miura stumbled on her first step and quickly clutched onto his shoulders for support. Farkas tried to catch and steady her but she seemed to conveniently slip out of his grasp. He knew she wanted Vilkas to help her instead.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, Miura." Vilkas groaned, wrapping an arm around her waist to make sure she didn't fall over.

"I'm so sorry! I'm still pretty hurt, you know. Maybe you could help me walk over to Kodlak's chambers?" she wondered, pouting her lips a little bit.

"Sure thing," he replied, escorting her little by little and step by step towards Kodlak's room. Farkas kept his position at her bedside. Running a few fingers through his long, disheveled hair, he let out a bit of a sigh and watched as his dear friend and dear brother disappear down the hall.


	4. The Big Bad Wolf

**A/N:** Thank you for all of your awesome reviews! I promise you're still reading the story you think you are. This is mainly a DB/Cicero fic, but you'll see why I mentioned the other pairings later. Now, let's get on to the actual story, shall we?

**Chapter Three: Big Bad Wolf**

Fontina the Scythe would've been a relatively unknown name before the Dragonborn's battle with the World-Eater. Fontina alone might have been whispered among the Forsworn. But "the Scythe" came later, in the Dark Brotherhood, when the knowledge of Fontina's presence almost always signaled an imminent death. So when Fontina was acknowledged as the Listener, she made it clear to her family early on that she once lived by a different name, a name she didn't want tarnished by association with her in any way. Her family knew she was Dragonborn and her family knew of Miura Table Masher, but never associated her with Fontina. Even when in close company, if they had to refer to her, they treated the name as if it were a completely different person entirely. And, in a way, that was almost true.

When Fontina had to meet a contact she knew from the past, it was understandably hard to conceal her identity. The shroud of the Brotherhood's official armor could only hide so much. One's voice, stature and general frame could never truly be concealed in the light of day. Fontina often opted to send another member to meet the contact, but some of Miura's acquaintances were well known and needed to speak to the Listener directly. And most of them lived in Whiterun, where her legend practically began and where anyone in the entire Hold could tell you a thing or two about Miura.

So, when a contact explicitly given by the Night Mother called for Fontina to meet them at the Bannered Mare, it was obviously a bit of an issue.

"Well, you shouldn't go by yourself." Babbette sighed, placing a newly mixed potion in the cupboard beside her.

"It's a risk, I will admit that. But I've been through tougher situations. Perhaps I don't know this contact? Perhaps I can cast an illusion or something?" Fontina replied.

"It's more than likely that you do know them. Your armor cannot change your voice and anyone with skill could sense an illusion without much trouble. We do deal with a dangerous lot."

"Thank you very much, mistress of the total obvious. So, what do you propose I should do? They performed the Black Sacrament and the Night Mother specifically asked for me to go. I can't very well just not show up." She sighed, looking over at some of the initiates sharpen their weaponry in the other room.

Most of the business from Whiterun was from those seeking a contract without the sacrament and it was most peculiar for someone from there to go to such extremes to contact them. After all, it was a very small town and many would whisper about anything as suspicious as that. Whoever called upon them risked much to do so, she figured. The Night Mothers words echoed in Fontina's head. She must have known that she had taken the liberty to send others to Whiterun typically. Why was she so bent on having Fontina go this time? The whole set up seemed to leave a bitter taste in her mouth.

"And no one is asking you not to show up, my dear. You must have someone go with you is all. Might I suggest one of the initiates? You've neglected to take any of them in your travels thus far."

"I trust them well enough. I do. Really. Its just…"

"Your favorite travel partner. Why you even bothered to keep him alive is something I wonder every day."

"Ha, do you even have to guess? The Night Mother, Sithis, and gods know who else would be on my ass if he was killed." Fontina scoffed, choosing to leave out that Lucien also cautioned her against doing so.

"I suppose you're right. Still, this does leave the matter of who will travel with you to Whiterun."

And, as if on cue, Cicero hopped out from behind a wall and pranced over to where to two were speaking.

"Oh! Oh! Cicero will go! Cicero's blade hungers for a taste of blood and maybe a new one from the Skyforge!"

"You can't be serious. I wasn't even going to carry this out tonight. Whoever it is, I'd need careful planning and—" Fontina groaned and folded her arms, inwardly hoping that he hadn't been around to hear the most of their conversation.

"No offense to you, Cicero, but maybe that wouldn't be the best course of action." Babbette chimed in, taking the reigns.

She meant no disrespect to Fontina. Of course, she was right. Besides the fact that he'd been tugging on her last nerve for days now, he was quite possibly the most recognizable member of the Brotherhood by now. She'd brought him on a few kills and he wasn't one to change his eccentric attitude, even during an assassination It could even be considered a larger risk to bring him, which was always her case against him when he asked to accompany her, but he always assured that no sane man would ever think a jester was a member of the Dark Brotherhood. That it would be complete madness.

"Whatever the Listener wishes. Humble Cicero lives to serve." Cicero simply stated, obviously not in the mood to repeat his request. It had only been a few days since her little outburst and he wasn't quite sure she'd forgiven him.

Indeed, Fontina wasn't exactly sure if she even had decided to forgive him yet. Still, she figured that it did no good to keep her mind on it and the simplest thing to do would be to just let the poor guy go. She turned to face him and saw that his solemn expression broke with an exaggerated pout and a whine. She couldn't help but roll her eyes. There wasn't much harm in letting him go, she thought. What was the worst he could do? She didn't want to wonder.

"I suppose I could do worse. Come on, let's go."

The familiar sight of a burning flame, bubbling mead and bad music was a fitting welcome home to Fontina as she casually eyed the others in the room.

A lot of the patrons were wary. Even Hulda, who was busy dishing out the beverages managed to send a glare of warning towards the two. Though Fontina was careful to opt out of wearing her Shrouded Armor that practically screamed Dark Brotherhood, the full suit of Dwarven armor definitely was a sight to be seen. Cicero was, of course, wearing his usual jester garb, which confused everyone else all the more. In their minds, either the person who walked in was very important or very dangerous, and most took the safe bet to guess that both were true.

There were a few friendly faces that she wasn't very surprised to see. There was Jon Battle-Born and his wayward love for the arts, Sinmir complaining about the guards, and Mikael ironically blaring the song of the Dragonborn out of tune. Well, he was, until a shadow from the back seats where Uthgerd used to sit sent a tankard flying across the room, hitting him over the head and effectively ending the song.

"Show yourself, damn you! I don't have to take this from you!" Mikael growled, mead dripping from his blond tresses and heading over to where the disgruntled drunkard was sitting. Cicero giggled in delight, expecting a probable brawl and Fontina slapped his shoulder to silence him. Both were surprised to see him apologize and carefully back away to start playing "The Age of Aggression".

Said shadowy figure rose from his seat and slowly made his way to the back room where Amaund Motierre had once met with he so Fontina decided to follow suit. The small back room was just as it ever was, poorly lit and dank. The person sat down in the very seat her old client used to inhabit and leaned forward with his arms folded.

"You must be who I sent for. I've done that damned sacrament as you asked. There is no honor in doing it, but what I ask for is no honorable task."

Fontina blinked and started to tense. That voice was beyond familiar. Deciding it was best to keep her mouth shut for a while, she simply nodded.

"Not much for words, are you? Well, I suppose I should tell you who I want murdered." And with a sigh, the man placed his arm limply on the table. His eyes piereced the darkness and were the only part of him to be seen.

"This person won't be easy to find…if I knew where she was, I'd rip her throat out myself. I heard you killed the Emperor, which is the only reason I put this in your hands. She's a bit of a celebrity," He began. "You see, her name is Miura…Miura Table Masher, as she was once _affectionately_ called. You may know her as the Dragonborn."

Fontina still said nothing, shocked at the mention of her own name. She should have noticed before but hearing such an old name gave her all the information she needed. _'Vilka_s.' She seethed within her mind, her right hand balling into a fist. Cicero could only imagine the expression on her face behind the heavy helmet, so he decided to all the talking.

"And what a celebrity! The hero of us all! Slayer of the dreaded World-Eater Alduin! Yikes! That's one big fish to fry. Why, what would make a lowly, nameless, nobody like you want such a person dead? I mean, it's not every day some farmer wants the savior of Skyrim murdered." He chuckled circling around Vilkas' seat as he spoke.

"I am no farmer, clown! You would do well to watch your words at risk of your life. I am a member of the Companions, as she was once herself. She broke a promise to me. She only killed two of those damned witches! And she…she killed my brother." He growled.

"Oh ho ho! An eye for an eye! Tit for tat! How vengeful."

"I promise to give you 15,000 septims for her head on a platter. How I wish I could deliver the fatal blow myself, but it is not to be. When she is dead, meet me at Skyforge and bring me something to prove you've done the deed. I can't tell you much about where she is. She's a Breton and may already have gone to High Rock, but I would check with the Forsworn camps near Markarth."

"Consider it done." Fontina confirmed in a solid tone. If that was really what he wanted.

Vilkas' eyes narrowed, but he figured it was just his overactive imagination taunting him again. The night had grown older and the vicious ache in his veins only caused him to become that much more restless. That voice was familiar to him, but he chose not to pursue it. Instead offered his own confirmation as he quickly made his way to the door.

"Good. We have a deal then."


	5. On the Road Again

**Chapter Four: On the Road Again**

Fontina said nothing about the deal with Vilkas as the two passed the gates to Whiterun. She only mentioned that there was a contract she needed to carry out in Winterhold and that she wanted to make the trek on foot. Usually, that would be a death sentence to her sanity when Cicero was tagging along but she desperately sought some much-needed time to sort out what exactly she just agreed to. It would surely take more than a day or two to get there, but she didn't mind the bit of gold she was saving in her pockets instead of taking a cart. Cicero, on the other hand, wasn't too fond of long distance walking and quickly began to poke at her armor begging for a sweet roll…or carrot.

The walk wasn't so eventful. Fontina decided to change into some steel armor for comfort and ditched the helmet on the side of the road. She had many others and didn't feel like pulling the weight (or laying it on Cicero, for that matter). A few wolves here and there wanted to press their luck by challenging her, but she more than often came out of the ordeal with a few pelts rather than a few scratches. There was one particular gash on the side of her calf that was bothering her more than a little bit so she decided to set up a place to sleep for the night and quickly healed the wound with her restoration magic. The soft glow lit the night alongside the glistening snow and torch bug lights floating around their makeshift camp.

"Cicero is ever so curious. Why would that nasty wolf think the Listener would be near Markarth with the Forsworn?"

Fontina turned her head and let out a small sigh. Sooner or later she would have to discuss her newest contract, along with some of her bitter past.

"That's easy. Because the Listener was once a Companion who was once a small girl, terrible at combat, born near Markarth to parents who just so happened to be Forsworn." She explained with a weak laugh, tossing him a red apple.

Cicero really didn't know what to say, so he took a not-so-quiet bite out of the apple and kept his gaze at her, hoping she would tell him more. She took the hint and leaned back against the pole of her makeshift tent as a burst of arctic wind tossed around her raven hair.

"Killing is in my blood, you know. But I was naive enough to think otherwise, so I ran away." She turned her gaze to the moon, a wistful smile on her face as she remembered. "Getting out of that mess of bandits got me a free trip to Helgen and almost cost me my life. I suppose running around in Forsworn armor looking as suspicious as I did would definitely land me an instant death sentence. Didn't help that Ulfric Stormcloak was nearby, either."

"From Markarth to Helgen to Whiterun, Windhelm, Falkreath and who knows else! Such an adventurer you are." He chuckled. "Cicero used to travel quite a long distance around Tamriel himself like you until he took an arrow to the knee."

Fontina let out a hearty laugh, remembering a guard who uttered the same sort of nonsense and wondering if Cicero was there to hear him. If a small arrow in the knee was all it took to take a person out for good, she wondered if she had the hidden power of Talos to take as many arrows as she did.

Before she could sink her teeth into her own apple, Cicero leaped from his position on the ground and sprang right on top of Fontina, knocking it out of her hands. His jester hat flung to the wayside, his slightly long red hair fell over his face as he hovered over her. Fontina's gray eyes were wide and glassy as the firelight glazed her surprised expression. "Cicero…what?" she whispered. She could easily feel the warmth radiating from him the bitter cold night. For a moment there was nothing but silence as he pressed a finger against her rosy lips.

"I knew I heard something." He said in a low tone almost under his breath, briefly looking down on Fontina to check if she was alright. As he rose, he drew his dagger and moved stealthily behind a nearby tree, beckoning the Listener to do the same.

Fontina took a second to recover the wind that was knocked out of her and regained her composure, sitting up. She turned her head to see a glass arrow impaling the post she was leaning against only moments before and drew her own bow and arrow. From the direction of the hit, she could tell that her mystery attacker must be somewhere a bit north of where they were and rolled over to sit crouched behind a large stone. Another arrow was fired and deflected from her new shelter as she tried to discern a figure in the darkness. And then there was another. And another. None hitting her, but coming too close for comfort. There must have been at least two archers.

Cicero didn't have any ranged weapons and figured that Fontina would easily be able to take out anyone far off, so he slowly tried to make his way to where he thought he heard some rustling in the bushes. _'There are definitely two of them. Maybe more.'_ He took note, sneaking beyond a few trees trying to reach a darkened area by a small road to a mass of mountains.

Meanwhile, Fontina readied her arrow and shot it close to where she thought she saw some movement. She was at a bit of a disadvantage in that respect. They could see her but she couldn't see them. For a moment, she figured she must have hit one of them because the barrage of arrows grew thinner but her small assurance was dashed when an arrow grazed her shoulder, making her draw back and wince. The pain did nothing but fuel her adrenaline as she drew back another arrow, watching it pierce the flesh of her unknown assailant and making them stagger over with a cry.

Taking note of the hit, Cicero noticed a shrouded figure moving quickly towards where Fontina was hiding and dropped back a few steps to get a little closer behind them. With a whip of his blade across the attacker's slender neck, a pool of blood began to stain the green forest floor. The now lifeless body crumbled before it in a heap as Cicero tried to keep hidden among the branches to take out whoever was left.

"Two down. Two to go!" she cried over the gust of wind and snow. Though it was hard to see, her enemies became a bit bolder and only took care to hide behind something after she took a shot.

She had watched the only one attacker who was foolish enough to charge at them be quickly dispatched by a now hidden Cicero. She surmised he was closer to the camp by now and could probably finish the rest himself, but took no chances and aimed precisely to fire a few more shots. No contact.

_'That was strange. I thought it'd hit. There wasn't any wind, he was right there…it doesn't make sense.'_ She reasoned with herself, peering from her place hoping not to land an arrow in the eye. But, nothing. Not one arrowhead whizzed past her and she couldn't see the figures that were clear to her moments before. She listened for her enemy's movement but again, nothing. The wind blew, the trees shook, but there wasn't anything weird about it.

And then, whistling. Just whistling. Faint whistling riding the wind.

And then she knew. He got them.

Abandoning her camp, Fontina made her way to the best guess at where whoever she was fighting was. As she walked, she almost tripped over the body of the person Cicero took out moments before. It was a woman, blond hair matted in blood in what seemed to be leather armor. A Nord, no doubt. Probably a bandit too, she guessed and kept moving. She could loot the body later. She just wanted to see what had happened.

Just as she'd thought, there was a towering structure not unlike a fort openly nestled between two low, snowy peaks. A lifeless Khajiit lay before her, still holding his battle-axe. A few more Nords as she went up the stairs. The whistling began to echo louder as she took each step.

"And I said to the man in red, I'd be happy to kill you dead!

And with a flick of the wrist, a cut and a twist

Rolling away was his head!" Cicero sang as he proceeded to loot a decapitated corpse.

"Don't you start! You'll have that stuck in my head for days!" Fontina warned, a faint blush still coloring her cheeks as she walked into the top of the bandit camp. Four more dead, more than she had anticipated.

Cicero offered her a lopsided grin and tossed her a coin purse while kicking the severed head over to her. She caught both, the eyes of the poor dead fellow still wide with terror. Blood dripped from her fingers and with a grimace and a yelp she flung the head down the stairs. A chorus of thuds and laughs erupted from the stairwell, the head rolling and Cicero chuckling.

Brows furrowed, Fontina stormed over and kicked him in his shin.

"Ah ow! Listener! You don't have to be so rough!" he hissed, grabbing his throbbing shin and hopping around on one foot. Fontina grunted and walked past him, looking around the room, searching for the inevitable treasure chest she was bound to find and grazing her fingers over the wooden end table on the side of the room.

After the two took what they could get, they returned to their small campsite. Fontina considered whether they should move to the bandits' old camp. It was warmer and offered a bit more cover than a simple tent would. But in all actuality, she was too tired to follow through with the plan and instead crashed down into her bedroll with a sigh.

At the edge of the flickering flame, Cicero tossed in a bit more firewood. He reached over and retrieved his hat which now had a new tear altogether in it. And he'd just mended it since Fontina's dagger attack.

"Hey, Cicero…" Fontina slurred, probably almost deep in the depths of sleep. In a way, Cicero was jealous.

"Hmm?"

"Would I be breaking a tenant and invoking the Wrath of Sithis if the Dark Sister I killed was myself?" she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut.

Cicero gave no reply, watching the fire burn intensely only for an instant only to lower and fade into nothingness. He honestly didn't know.


	6. The Dragonborn Hates Cats

**A/N:** Again, I am so happy with all of the positive reviews you guys gave me. Thank you so much. I'm especially glad that you like my portrayal of Cicero. It's been kinda tough to pin down how he should act in each situation. Anyway, I hate this chapter. I rushed it, ha. It's a bit of a filler, but pretty important nevertheless. Writing it was annoying but it had to be done. Hope you like it!

**Chapter Five: The Dragonborn Hates Cats**

Skeevers were vermin. Frostbite Spiders were pests. Bears were a minor inconvenience. Saber Cats, however, were hell on all fours. Miura wasn't at all sure if she'd always hated them quite as much as she did then, the beast blood churning in her veins made it hard for her to tell exactly how she felt, but she hated them now. They were perceptive creatures, always ready to dart over and claw at their prey and they had this funny way of finding their way right in front of Miura before she could even fire a shot.

Being a true archer at heart, it had been difficult for her to transition from her trusty bow and arrow to the favorite axes and greatswords of the Companions. Saber Cats were giving her much practice in that regard, though it wasn't much of a blessing in her eyes. Often, if she were too concerned with something else to notice one lurking behind the brush, the cat would pounce before she could even reach for an arrow and always left particularly ferocious slices in her skin. Of course, having Farkas around to pull it off and take the brunt helped, for the most part, but it left Miura feeling a bit too useless so she'd often jump in and hack away at it.

Such rash actions on her part were what landed her leaning against a fallen tree, rotting bark scratching against her back as Farkas wrapped a bandage over a Saber Cat's parting gift. The sting was unbearable. A few tears escaped from her eyes as he began to tighten and tie the cloth around her arm. It was getting to be too much of a habit, Farkas taking care of her injuries. Miura appreciated it but couldn't help but think of what Vilkas would say if he were around.

'_Probably something like: you should be able to stand on your own two feet, and if you can't, you aren't worthy of being called a Companion.'_ She guessed, mocking his tone inside her head. It was no secret that Vilkas wasn't too fond of the new blood. It wasn't such an issue to her. One way or another, she'd be able to charm him. Figuratively, of course, though 'literally' didn't sound too bad on the loneliest of nights. She had Breton blood in her, after all. She wanted to giggle, but only let out a hiss.

"One day I'll make each and every Saber Cat in Skyrim pay for this. Mark my words." She growled, jerking her arm in pain and wincing.

"Don't know why you hate them so much. They've got these nice warm coats." Farkas shrugged as he stood to loot his latest kill.

"You can't be serious. Damned cats just appear out of nowhere! It's ridiculous."

"So, does this mean you don't like Khajiit?" he turned, a freshly plucked saber tooth bleeding onto his hands. Miura shook her head and took the time to pull out her map. From what she could survey, the pair were getting quite close to their next destination: Glenmoril Coven. Noting that Farkas probably hadn't noticed her, she went on to explain further.

"Nothing like that. They're fine, unless they're after your gold. They're pretty good sneaks, you know. Can't be too careful."

"I guess you're right. I'll take care of the cats if you take care of the spiders."

"Sounds like a deal." She smirked. Oh, how he hated spiders. It was one thing to see Farkas as an unstoppable beast, brutally slaying all in his wake but it was definitely a sight to see when the same man was seen fleeing away from a smaller frostbite spider like a puppy with its tail between its legs. It was a good thing that the area they were traveling in was devoid of most spiders. Even the ones that did dare show themselves were silenced quickly with a swift arrow to the head. Little mess, less venom was exactly how both of them liked handling the things.

"I know Kodlak wanted me to do this alone, but thanks for coming with me. I can only imagine what these witches are like."

"Ah, don't sweat it. I didn't have anything else better to do anyway." Farkas offered with a smile. Miura was glad to have him travel with her. She felt so safe when she wasn't off on her own.

The land was starting to become a bit familiar to Miura. No doubt they were really in the western part of Skyrim, now. The journey had been long but the forest gave her signs that she was close to her former home. It only comforted her to know that she could probably locate the coven better with her improved sense of direction, but hoped that none of her brethren were wandering far enough away from home to find her traveling with a beast, a half-beast herself, and not at all the same person who'd ventured away long ago. Who knew what would happen if word got back to her mother.

There was a thin path running up from a crossroad that leads to a peak. Several stones marked it and led the way with a waving fabric at the top. Miura turned and Farkas climbed up the path, stopping and a large dark rift in the rocks.

"I think this is where we're supposed to go in." Miura stated, giving a short glance at her map to verify. If the strange talismans and totems didn't give it away, the feathers and dried blood would. The air moving through the entrance was damp with the faint trail of shrill whispers at the end of it. She'd been to some scary caves in her day but this one sent a particularly chilling shiver through her. It seemed to be the place, alright.

"Caves. Dark. Dangerous." Farkas observed. "Who knows what might meet us."

"You've got that right." She agreed, leading the way onto the barely visible path inside. "I wonder what these witches are like. Maybe they're like those dark mages that I keep seeing near the guardian stones."

"Beats me."

Farkas followed cautiously behind, trying to figure out where the witches were. The cave walls were decorated with hanging moss and drops of murky water. Each tiny drop falling to the mineral rich soil came down with a plop, distracting Miura a bit as she felt around to discern her surroundings. As the path grew tighter, the sound of mangled breath echoed through the cave. Wherever the witches were, they were getting close.

"They look more like Hagravens to me. Hope they'll be a bit more easier to take out." Miura whispered spotting two that seemed to be communicating. Feeling confident, she slung an arrow through her bow and fired at one of their chests before they could even notice. Sneaking wasn't her strong suit but she took the slight chance that they might not see her. Unfortunately for her, they did. Farkas cursed under his breath and readied his own bow.

"Kodlak only wanted me to bring one to test out anyway. Guess this extra one might come in handy, though." Miura sighed, holding each of the heads by their silky gray hair.

"If what Kodlak wants to try actually works, we need to come back and get the rest. We should probably get this over with now." Farkas shrugged.

"And what if it doesn't work? Then we'd be battered, bruised and broken with nothing to show for other than some old ladies' severed heads." Miura replied. "Let's just take these and go. We can clear this place once we're more prepared."

The battle wasn't particularly difficult when the two of them were fighting together. Miura distracted them with her arrows while Farkas ran in for the kills. The powerful magic that left them with a few burns wasn't something Miura wanted to continue to tangle with, so she left the cave with only two heads in her possession. Farkas wanted to destroy the remaining witches for good measure, but Miura's point was made. They were running low on potions and they wouldn't be fit for the walk back to Whiterun if they tempted fate.

"Whatever you say."

When they finally returned to Jorrvaskr, the losses were few and at the same time many. Some inexperienced whelps were lying dead in their own juices despite not carrying any of the beast blood. Tilma took it upon herself to pull sheets over them as a last sign of respect as Miura wondered how she managed to survive the break-in. Aela and the rest of the gang kneeled before the corpse of Kodlak. The Silver Hand seemed to not care about how much blood and guts they left behind them, but at least Kodlak was still basically in one piece. It must have been a simple stab to the heart with a silver sword. She was thankful that the twins didn't have to see their mentor in pieces.

"Wherever you were, I hope it was worth it…the Silver Hand. They killed Kodlak and you weren't there to defend him." Vilkas seethed from his position next to Njada as they entered. "When we needed you most, you weren't here."

Vilkas was terribly harsh on a daily basis but she understood that it was because he wanted her to become stronger. What he said earlier, however, dripped of disappointment and disgust. It was obvious that there wasn't any way she could have known about the sudden attack and she would've stayed put and fought alongside him if she did. The past was the past and there wasn't any way for her to take it back. Kodlak was gone, sent to Hircine with the beast still tugging at his soul. It wasn't what he had wanted and maybe she could've at least granted him that much by returning earlier. The heavy heads still poked out from the woven sack she had carried and seemed to watch as everyone mourned their supposed leader.

"He was right. I wasn't there for Kodlak. But, Vilkas…h-he…" Miura sniffed, wiping a tear from her eye. Farkas turned to her and tried to offer some sympathy.

"Kodlak…he was like a father to me. To Vilkas, too. That's why he was so mad. I think he knows why we weren't here, though, and he will forgive us."

Vilkas wandered over with a look of bewilderment plastered on his face. He patted Farkas' shoulder and pulled him over to say his goodbyes to Kodlak. Miura would have time to do so herself during the impending funeral but the twins needed to have a more personal farewell. The loss of Kodlak honestly wasn't as hard on her. She hadn't known him very long though the way he looked at and addressed her would make one think he'd known her forever. It always gave her a strange feeling that she didn't want to pursue. It was a feeling similar to when the Greybeards had revealed her destiny as the Dragonborn to her. Still, he was a kind man and was one of the few not to underestimate her potential that fateful day she entered Jorrvaskr for the first time. She admired him for that much and wanted to help him find a cure to their shared burden of lycanthropy.

Vilkas never once looked at Miura. He didn't apologize or ask her how she was feeling. Miura was the only one who noticed, of course, and wiped another stray tear before taking a deep breath. It was childish to think that he would just change his ways completely, even if it were an emotional time. There was one thing that Miura knew for a fact, however. Despite the tragedy befalling them, it was clear. Maybe Vilkas could forgive Farkas, but he most likely wouldn't forgive her so easily.


	7. The Dead Should Stay Dead  Part One

**A/N:** And I love this chapter! It's broken into two chapters, actually, but Cicero is back. Inspired by a time when I went into a dungeon to sneak up on some bandits and neither of my followers would shut up. I think Ma'iq was right. They just talk and talk and talk. Thanks again for your reviews! I really do appreciate them. You guys are awesome!

**Chapter Six: The Dead Should Stay Dead – Part One**

"Maybe you should kill a random stranger? Practice does make perfect."

"STAB STAB STAB STAB STAB STAB STAB!"

"Did you ever hear the one about-?"

"Neigh!"

"And then, STAB STAB STAB STAB STAB STAB STAB!"

"Enough!" Fontina cried, using her glass sword to swing at the ghost beside her. Lucien faded into a glittering powder that broke the shadow cloaking the trio in the early morning. With a few enchanting mutters under her breath, she watched as her dark horse follower was absorbed into a black and purple abyss of power to leave only the original pair of assassins to greet the rising sun. Cicero shrieked and backed away as she turned the sword over to him, wearing no noticeable sign of annoyance on her face. Others might have mistaken her look to be one of forgiveness or resignation. They might've even told Cicero not to fear. But that gaze gave him even more of a reason to fear her reaction. The tip of the sword only inches away. "And I'd banish you, too, if such a way were possible."

The road from Whiterun had given them two days worth of trekking to do. After their run in with the bandits, Cicero had suggested to have Fontina summon the spectral assassin for extra protection while they rested. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Lucian was always ready with a blade in hand to cut down any threat but over two hundred years of solitude in death left him starving for company, if not a bit talkative. Fontina thought she could handle this. He wasn't as irritating as Cicero, for the most part, but both of them? Not to mention the overdue appearance of Shadowmere, arriving from some distant part of the dense forest with his red eyes almost scaring Fontina out of her wits. Thinking the blur of speed to be a hostile Dunmer she took quick shot. Sure enough, an arrow pierced Shadowmere right in his nether-regions, making him let out cries of pain and spite. Fontina was apologetic when she realized just whom she'd shot, but felt less so when Shadowmere's neighing became a constant sound mingled in with the wild animal noises beyond the road.

It was getting to be too much.

She took the task upon herself and made the number of travel companions significantly shorter. She didn't feel all that bad about it, either. They were nice to have around during a battle but they weren't so necessary at the moment. Also, since it wasn't long before the road to Winterhold would be covered not only with sunlight but the occasional wanderer as well, it would probably be best to limit the amount of suspicious characters near her person. For once, she was actually trying to appear normal.

"Hey Cicero, could you do something for me?" Fontina asked, moving over to the side of the road. Cicero was still a bit cautious not to end up like glowing dust on the ground so he humbly nodded and tilted his head as if to wonder what she wanted.

"Does it involve sneaking or stabbing? Please say yes!"

"Calm down. Just wait here a moment." She growled, heaving the heavy load of her items from her back and placing them down on the grass.

"Spiders could rip my face off and I wouldn't move an inch!" he grinned.

Fontina paused and bit her lip, not really excited at his enthusiasm. A few memories best left forgotten squirmed their way into her thoughts. Instead of entertaining them, however, she rummaged though her person and took out a stained belted burgundy tunic and some simple fur boots. Cicero scrunched his face together in an exaggerated expression of distaste and stepped back a few paces. It was as if he could read her mind.

"Here, put something remotely normal on for a change. We're going to the college." She tossed the clothing over to him and he hesitantly caught them with a squeak. The itchy fabric moving over his fingers made his apprehension worse. It wasn't as if he hadn't used to run around in disguise before. A smirk appearing as he remembered his time pretending to be a star-struck fan but acting in that case was a lot more interesting. What he was asked to do now was act like a…like a…

"A boring, ordinary, unoriginal, banal, bland, dreary, humdrum ol' regular person? Oh no no no! Cicero could never do that! This is no good!" he frowned. "Why can't we just tip-toe our way in and leave everyone a surprise in the morning?"

Fontina herself put on a moderately ornate robe over her armor and pulled the blue hood of that robe over her hair. A few guards paced around the general entrance to Winterhold, so she hoped they didn't notice her impromptu change of wardrobe but knew she didn't have to worry. Most of them weren't fully awake enough to pay attention or care.

"Because that would take more effort than this. Why break in when you can walk in?" she answered with a mischievous smirk.

Not in the mood to anger the Listener further, Cicero groaned in displeasure and went behind a tree to change his outfit. The boots were a bit too big, but everything else seemed to fit adequately. It had been a while since he'd worn anything so dull and devoid of color. Taking off his regular jester outfit had felt like he'd taken off a layer of his skin. It was a strange feeling of being completely naked and exposed but at the same time hidden and ignored. There was a deep winding loneliness at the thought of not being able to laugh as freely as though he were on some tight leather leash.

'_It's only for a little while. It's only for the Listener.'_ He chanted in his head, grinding his teeth.

When he reappeared from the thicket Fontina gasped, actually cupping one of her small hands over her mouth. The shirt she'd given him was supposed to be loose fitting, but instead clung snugly to the ripples of muscle she didn't even know he had. Even if he hadn't been in practice with his assassinating before she'd allowed him to travel with her, it was obvious he still kept in training while he was keeping the coffin. Although he'd been changing for quite some time, he'd left the strings at his chest unlaced and the leather belt hung loosely around him. His jester hat was neatly folded in his hands, allowing his hair to fall freely to frame his face. Fontina felt her heart pounding. If she didn't know any better, she'd think that he looked…rather handsome.

"Shall we go then, milady?" he purred, making a grand gesture for Fontina to move.

"L-Lace that up, will you!" she shrieked, trying to conceal her blush as she walked on with a speedier pace.

When the pair had made it into the courtyard, they were greeted by mages of all kinds bowing their heads with respect and whispering amongst each other. Admittedly, Cicero didn't understand what Fontina had meant earlier by saying that they'd be able to just walk in and wondered why everyone seemed to stiffen up at the sight of them. His first guess was that they weren't welcoming to the perceived outsiders but then that didn't explain why they hadn't bombarded them with destruction magic. As soon as an absent-minded old Nord scurried over with a few tomes under his arm, his questions were answered.

"Ah, it's the Archmage. Good to see you've finally decided to make an appearance!" the man cried, the wrinkled in his face curving into a smile. Cicero raised an eyebrow. He didn't know she was Archmage.

"Don't say a word." Fontina gravely whispered to Cicero as she too flashed her own version of a smile. "I'm sorry, Tolfdir. My studies and travels have taken me all across Skyrim and it's difficult to make my way back here."

"Perhaps we were too hasty in giving you such a title. Not that I do not respect you for all that you've done."

"Perhaps you are right. But, I intend to stay here for a good long while before heading out again. Maybe you can brief me about matters which are of the greatest importance at the moment?"

"Certainly! But…excuse me for being plain. Who is this?" Tolfdir asked, turning his gaze to Cicero. As instructed, he said nothing, but turned to the old man to acknowledge him.

"Ah, yes. My guest here was interested in joining the college but wasn't exactly sure. I've decided to give him a personal tour. Please do make him feel welcome. He has shown quite the potential." Fontina praised, inwardly cursing herself for weaving such a lie without consulting Cicero first. What if he was horrible at magic? What if he couldn't even cast a spell?

"Really, now? It is so good to see the younger generation take an interest in the arcane arts. Pleased to meet you. My name is Tolfdir and I will most likely be your first teacher if you choose to join."

All were silent, waiting for Cicero's response. He didn't know exactly what to say, however, and kept his mouth shut for good measure. He'd have to give the Listener a good talking to about this later.

"Do forgive him. He doesn't say much. His name is…uh…Sentius." Fontina laughed.

"Oh, that's quite alright. I must bid you farewell for now, Sentius. Now, if you will excuse me, I must gather the students for the final lesson of the day. Shall I meet you in your quarters at six, Archmage?"

"Very good, Tolfdir. Thank you." She bid the old man farewell, snaking an arm under Cicero's so that she could drag him over to the Hall of Attainment. "Follow me. I must show you where your quarters will be."

Getting over to the small room she used to dwell in the old days wasn't too hard. Only two of her old classmates were there, J'zargo and Onmund, but they were still fast asleep in their beds. Without much detail, Fontina explained that Cicero…or 'Sentius'…would be able to sleep there during their stay and led him upstairs for the next part of his fake tour. The upper floor had a similar layout to the one below it. The only difference was that the teachers resided here and all of them were wide-awake. Most offered a brief hello before heading out to prepare the day's lesson or to do some of their own extended research. Fontina was thankful in part because the holes in her plans would be quickly exposed if they'd questioned her too much about her guest.

In on of the rooms to the left sat an irritated Bosmer, grumbling to himself about useless apprentices and storing some black soul gems away in his dresser.

"That's him. Enthir." Fontina whispered, pointing him out. "Stubborn bastard that he is, he gave me one hell of a time retrieving a stupid staff for him once. Supposedly, he is a necromancer and our contract doesn't like the way he handles the dead."

Enthir looked over and gave a bitter glare. Fontina put on her 'Archmage-face' and gracefully led Cicero over to meet him.

"Well, if it isn't the Archmage. For a while there, I thought there wasn't even an Archmage. Wouldn't be surprised if you went off and got yourself killed." Enthir snorted, folding his arms.

"Good to see you, my friend. I hope all is well."

"Oh, we're all just fine and dandy here without any leadership. Though, if you were smart, you'd stick around. Got lots of things for you to do."

"I intend to. Only something particularly urgent could tear me away now." Fontina assured, the thought of his imminent death swimming around in her head.

"Good to hear, I guess." He grumbled, shoving past the two of them and stalking off to gods know where. Fontina threateningly shook her fist at his back, wondering if she might use a more creative—and by creative, she meant painful-way to bring Enthir to the afterlife.

Fontina led Cicero back downstairs under the explanation that she wanted to show him the Hall of the Elements. Every room seemed to be empty this time and Cicero was getting restless acting to stuffy in his role as a would-be mage. First, he let out a bit of harmless whistling that Fontina chose to ignore. Maybe it wasn't so much that she was ignoring it, but she seemed to have other things on her mind. He could tell she was worried. Still, he was bored. So he burst into song.

"Ah, Winterhold! Such a magical place!

Until fireballs of destruction explode in your face!

Why would one waste their talents if they must?

When they could be blasting their foes into dust!"

"That's pretty clever! Are you a bard?" came a small voice from one of the seemingly vacant rooms. A hooded Dunmer appeared, an amused smile across her face as she studied Cicero. Fontina recognized her instantly and decided to greet her.

"Ah, Brelyna. So nice to see you again. I hope you've improved your spell casting."

"Again, I sincerely apologize, Archmage." Brelyna coughed, remembering how the woman before her had been every farm animal in the book due to her botched magic. Fontina looked back on the time fondly and held no hard feelings from the budding mage. She chuckled, thinking that the trouble she'd gone through to help Brelyna certainly wasn't as nearly fatal as when she'd decided to help J'zargo. Cicero dusted off his shoulders and gave Brelyna a loopy grin.

"Well, well, such a lovely young mage to look upon. So nice! Ci—"

"_Since _I haven't introduced you two, why don't I go ahead and do so? This is a guest of mine I've picked up from my travels. His name is…Sentius, from Cyrodill. He's quite interested in joining our college." Fontina cut in, secretly nudging him in the ribs for almost blowing his cover.

"My name is Brelyna. I do hope you decide to join us. It would certainly be nice to see a new face. Maybe we could even work together sometime? I'm pretty new to the college myself." Brelyna introduced, holding out her hand to Cicero.

"And I do hope to see a lot more of you in the time to come! My decision has been made a little itty bit more clearer now that I know such kind and…hrm…_beautiful_ mages are here!" he replied, dropping down to place a light kiss on her extended hand.

"Haha, that's a bit excessive. If you ever need help, I could show you the ropes. I've got to be going now. Goodbye." Brelyna had a visible coloring of her cheeks as she giggled and hurried away. Fontina shook her head, not at all pleased, and shot him a glare. Cicero only shrugged. He was just trying to be nice. After all, they were going to kill one of her teachers. The least he could do was be a good sport about it.

"Come on. Let's go to my chambers. There is much we have to discuss." Fontina bid through her teeth as she let him out to the Hall of the Elements.


	8. The Dead Should Stay Dead Part Two

**A/N:** I haven't forgot you all! Thanks for all the helpful feedback in your reviews! I'm so happy all of you like my story so far. I actually have most of the later chapters finished, it's just this middle area of the story that I'm having a bit of trouble with so please bear with me. Oh, and expect longer chapters. Happy holidays!

**Chapter Seven: The Dead Should Stay Dead – Part Two**

Cicero leaned back into a fine armchair and heaved a deep breath as he sunk into it. It was the first moderately soft thing he'd sat on in a good while and he closed his eyes for a minute to savor it. The Archmage's quarters were particularly magnificent and made him feel comfortable with its atmosphere of tranquility. It was a room of light and color decorated with glittering magical energy and tinted glass bottles of potions lining the shelves. Many different types of plants grew together in harmony at the center of the room, destined to become useful ingredients for the alchemy table stationed near Fontina's bed. Cicero didn't know if Fontina was skilled at alchemy but knew that her room was indeed an alchemist's paradise.

He was coming to realize just how much he did not actually know about the Listener. When he'd first arrived at the Falkreath Sanctuary he was only aware that she was once a Companion and was known to be extremely lethal with a bow. He didn't know she was Archmage. He'd never have guessed that she was a scary Forsworn. Astrid was hesitant to tell him much of anything at that time and his conversations with Fontina herself were only limited to the history of the Brotherhood and its tenants. He truly didn't think much of her back in those days but now that he had time to think about it, he was surprised that he hadn't pressed her for details before. After all, out of all the members of their dysfunctional family, she was the one he spent the most time with. His excitement at the fact that he'd actually found a Listener at last was the main reason for this but there were other things he'd wanted to find out as well. In a way, there was much about her that confused him and Cicero didn't like to be confused.

Only a few steps away on the other side of the room, Fontina was being the Archmage. Tolfdir seemed to have a lot of business with her that all required her stamp of approval for a few research endeavors. From the look on her face, Cicero could tell that she was tired from their journey but he knew he wouldn't let her rest until she took the time to brief him on her plan. It was hard to follow her lead when he wasn't entirely sure where she was going with it and there were more than a few instances when he'd almost given them away. When Tolfdir finally left, he made sure to remind him that he was very much looking forward to being his teacher. It took a lot of effort for Cicero not to roll his eyes. The two sat in silence at his exit, waiting for his footsteps to fade before speaking.

"So, it seems that you're the Archmage! Well, if that isn't a surprise then I don't know _what_ is! The Listener sure does get around, if you know what I mean." He joked, his head lazily leaning against his hand as he kidded with her.

Fontina only hummed, absently focusing her gaze on some potted purple mountain flowers on a shelf beside her. She was definitely hesitant to look at him since he'd donned his new attire and he most certainly had noticed. The thought had crossed his mind to wear something like this more often if it would ruffle her so, but the disbelief in him even thinking to do such a thing shocked him out of ever considering to follow through with it. He did miss the familiarity of his jester outfit and it made him twitch to remember that he wasn't wearing it. Fontina yawned, her eyelids starting to fall.

"Oh dear, oh dear. Don't pass out on me here! Her Arch-Maginess has to tell confused Cicero what she plans to do!" he scowled. No reply.

Practically jumping out of his seat to stand only inches away from Fontina's face, Cicero tapped his foot impatiently. There was no way he was going to let her get away with this. There must be something he could do to wake her up! A mischievous smile spread across his face as he plotted. He could smell a hint of lavender in her hair as he moved in even closer to her. Fontina was too busy sinking into a deep sleep to notice his presence until she felt his warm breath hitting her ear. She felt paralyzed as if it were impossible for her to make a movement, so she stayed in the same position hoping that her skin hadn't taken a pinker hue.

"WAKEY WAKEY, LISTENER! TIME TO RISE AND SHINE!" he blared, making her literally shoot up from her seat to knock the chair over behind her.

"Damn it, Cicero! What if someone heard you?" she hissed through her teeth as she rubbed her ear to stop the ringing.

"You heard me. Didn't you, Listener?" he giggled, dancing around in a little jig at his excitement.

"That isn't what I meant and you know it."

"Come now, Listener. Don't be angry. Cicero didn't mean to hurt your little ears! Cicero sincerely apologizes if the Listener can't…well…listen! Haha!"

Fontina strolled over to the alchemy table and picked out some choice herbs. Her back was turned as she hunched over to mix her bitter concoction. Cicero raised his eyebrows and scoffed. So, she was an alchemist. Was there anything she couldn't do?

"It must be dusk by now. We carry this out later tonight." Fontina finally started laying out her plans. She turned as soon as she filled a small vile with her brew and gave Cicero a serious look. "Enthir is mine. You just make sure no one from downstairs comes up to catch me. Use any means necessary to distract them."

"Heard you loud and clear, Listener!" he winked.

"Stop calling me that. While we're here, call me either by name or address me as Archmage. We still have a few hours until this can be done." She scolded.

"If my memory serves me right, you said long ago that Cicero should never call you by name ever again. Isn't that right—oh, what was it again—Mia? Mina? Myra? Or was it Murna? It was something strange like that…"

"Just call me Archmage. Now, you need to get going. It's about time everyone starts turning in for the night. Wait roughly two hours before standing guard." She instructed, shoving Cicero towards the steps leading out of her room. As she pushed, he whimpered.

"What do I do after you're finished?" he wondered.

"Get out of here as swiftly as you can. Don't let anyone catch you. I'll meet you under the college near the shore. No one ever goes over there. Stay safe until I arrive."

"What do I do now?"

"Go mingle with your fellow students, Sentius."

—xxx—

The hustle and bustle of the college calmed down during the early hours of the evening. Students kept to their rooms to study while the teachers roamed freely about the place. A lot of them decided to thumb through some ancient works of literature in the library while very few set out to take their dinner. Cicero noted the patterns of a few of them, hoping that they would all make it back to their own rooms before it was time for action. He was getting antsy waiting for the right moment to make a move as he fidgeted with some items in his room. He let out a groan as he carelessly knocked over a bowl of void salts. Ducking down to clean up the mess, he paused when he sensed someone approaching.

"Looks like you're already getting settled. Let me help you with that." Came the amused voice of Brelyna as she bent over to aid him.

"You don't have to! Cice—Si-Si—Sit down! I mean, take a seat! Have a seat, please. I'll do it." He stuttered, cursing himself at his amateur mistake. No more speaking in the third person for him. Not as Sentius, he couldn't. It had been a long time since he'd been on a job like this.

"If you insist." She shrugged, moving herself over to a wooden chair by his bedside. "So what made you decide to think about joining the college? It's rare for an Imperial like yourself to journey here."

"Ah, me? Oh, I just…you know! This place is just so…magical?" he replied, tripping over his lie. Maybe he should have spent more time weaving it.

"That's a very fine way to put it. I think it's magical as well. One can come in without much prowess and leave a mage among many. At least, that's what I hope to do. Hone my skills, that is." She smiled.

"Really? That sounds nice. Me too. Though, you're a Dunmer so I suppose you don't really need as much training as I probably do." He laughed, dumping the pile of dirt and salt into the trash and taking a seat on his bed.

"I know I'm a Dunmer and I know what you're thinking. But no, I'm not automatically a genius at this sort of thing. Just because it's in my blood to use magicka doesn't mean I'm all that great at it." She snapped.

"Sorry! Sorry!"

"No…it's fine. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten so riled up. It's just that most of the other students think that of me and it gets irritating."

"Say, Bre? Can I call you 'Bre'? Okay, Bre. Is there anyone around here that could help me learn a thing or to about…oh…manipulating the dead?"

"I really hope you don't mean necromancy. Not that there's anything wrong with that but the whole idea is a little weird in my opinion."

"No, no. I would never! More like, something to stop someone dead from attacking. As if you were fighing someone scary who wanted to use the dead to hurt you." He clarified. If things didn't go smoothly with Fontina, he wanted to figure out a back up plan to defend himself from the supposed necromancer's wrath.

"Oh. I think J'zargo, the Khajiit in the next room, is developing some scrolls dealing with protecting yourself from the undead. You might want to check with him."

"Sounds very good, Bre. I just might do that."

—xxx—

The chill of the morning air was made colder by the news of recent death. The bodies of Enthir, Brelyna and J'zargo were hauled off before anyone could examine or loot them. Anyone with the idea in mind to loot the bodies was out of luck anyway. The bodies of Brelyna and J'zargo were so badly burned that they were hardly recognizable. Any items they had in their possession were most likely crispy and charred. Enthir's body, on the other hand, was frozen solid. So stiff was the corpse that the mages tasked with moving him couldn't force down his extended arm that was stuck forever reaching for the killer who did him in.

Fontina's hardened stare centered on nothing at all brought a frown to Tolfdir's face. He'd expected her to take it hard as they'd been close with her since her arrival all those months ago but the obvious turmoil boiling within her was shocking to him. A fist full of calloused fingers pounded on the table and made him jump. Fontina stood up in a fit of rage and began pacing back and forth.

"This is outrageous," he grumbled. Fontina cast a grave look to her friend and former mentor.

"This cannot go unsolved. I will not rest until this foul being is brought to justice." She croaked, her voice raw with falsified emotion.

"It must have been that man Sentius. He wasn't in his room when we searched for him."

"I let him in…and he did this. I feel like such a fool. Tolfdir, I leave everything to you. I don't know how long this will take but I must avenge the others."

Tolfdir felt that he could not oppose and merely nodded.

—xxx—

The road back to Dawnstar was a beast that needed conquering. It was long, to be sure, but what was more frightening was that it led Fontina back to the only soul who could answer the questions that plagued her since Whiterun. There was still the matter of the outstanding contract Vilkas had out on her. It wasn't something that could be carried out immediately, of course, but it was clear that the Night Mother had a reason for her to take it. And no contract was supposed to be left undone. Fontina's gaze met her feet as every step forward led to answers she wasn't sure she was ready to hear.

Cicero had noticed that she hadn't said anything since she'd greeted him an hour before. Part of him wondered if she was angry with him for killing her friends. Well, she did say he could use any means possible so it wouldn't be completely his fault if he didn't know she meant for them to live. The thing was, she didn't really look too sad. She more so seemed stuck in her own thoughts. Cicero was tired of the silence and decided to speak.

"I wonder if that necromancer ever made his bodies dance around like puppets. It sounds like fun." Cicero pondered.

Fontina laughed and shrugged her shoulders.

"I lined his pockets with a special poison. It freezes you up from the inside until you're nothing more than an ice cube. Quite a number you did, using those faulty scrolls J'zargo had. Brilliant." She praised.

Cicero actually beamed at the compliment and cleared his throat before speaking.

"Cicero didn't use those scrolls! I just asked J'zargo for a little demonstration. I had no idea it would be so hot. Barely got out of there without setting my own clothes alight!"

"And here I actually thought you really liked Brelyna."

"Hmm…not enough to really _light my flame_, so to speak! Haha! There is only room for one special lady in Cicero's heart. And that is my dear, sweet mother! Oh, but don't look so sad! Come now, you aren't jealous, are you? No need. No need! The Listener comes a close second. Yes! Are we not the very best of friends?

"Can it, clown. There's nothing for me to even be jealous about."

"So harsh to poor Cicero! You're breaking his heart!"

"Doubt it."

And then the silence returned. At least she didn't hold anything against him. There must have been something else plaguing her mind and Cicero only had one other guess. He was surprised that the Night Mother would make Fontina go accept the contract. Surely, she knew that Miura and Fontina were the same person? And just how were they supposed to send the Listener's soul to the Void? Cicero didn't like being confused. He was confused enough about Fontina but losing her? He just found her! The Brotherhood would fall to chaos without a Listener again. There must have been some sort of mistake.

Cicero figured that he shouldn't trouble himself to think about it anymore and hummed. Whatever was expected would be revealed once they made it back to Dawnstar.

"Back home! Home again! Oh, how I long for home!" he sang, kicking his feet and waving his arms.

"I'm sure the Unholy Matron is waiting." Fontina pointed out. She barely noticed that she was shuddering and dismissed it as her just being cold.


	9. From the Dawn into the Night

**A/N: **So, what kind of tool-bag loser takes a 4-month long hiatus without telling their fans about it and just waltzes back onto the site like nothing happened at all? Seriously. Who does that? Yeah. You guessed it. About that…I am so, so sorry guys. Life is life. Things happen. But now I have lots of time on my hands. I won't say you'll get a chapter a week like before, but you'll get something. Again, sorry if you thought the story was abandoned. It isn't. I already have the last three chapters done and I'm half way through the one after this. So, I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading.

**Chapter Eight: From Dawn into the Night **

Fontina had been close enough to the Night Mother more times than she would've liked to boast of. Having the only thing separating yourself from a festering pile of rotting flesh being your own breath was a thing of nightmares in her humble opinion. At least the second time she had to share a cramped space with the Unholy Matron involved her being knocked unconscious by an explosive blast. Fontina couldn't fathom her state of mind if she'd had to stare into the not-completely-lifeless eyes of the corpse during the whole ordeal. Babbette liked to giggle at the memory of the Listener quite literally sailing through the air in a coffin with a dead woman at her breast but the mention of it still made Fontina shiver a bit. At least she wasn't awake. Thank the Divines for small mercies.

So, her apprehension at being alone in a room with the aforementioned dead woman was at least somewhat justified. She often tried to stay as far away from the Night Mother as possible, within reason. She was the Listener, as a certain clown never failed to remind her, so she did have to spend some time having their enigmatic deity invade her head to give her new contacts. She didn't have to like it, though. Her free time was most certainly not in the company of the corpse, as was true with Cicero. She didn't know how he could do it, but figured that him spending nearly a decade alone with only her unholy deadness as 'company' built his tolerance to the stench…and the creepy gaze…and the almost-unhinged slack jaw. She really didn't know.

This time, instead of questionable customers, she needed answers. The visit to the Night Mother was inevitable and the dread fell across her face at the thought.

When she returned to the Sanctuary, Nazir was leaning against the stairwell with an eyebrow raised and a smirk playing his features. She knew he probably had some witty quip to throw at her as she shuffled down the stairs. The initiates were most likely out on a job or resting their heads in murderous slumber, leaving the large room quiet with the stagnant air. Whatever torture victims moaned before her departure must have been silenced forever before her return. In the distance, Cicero broke the silence by whistling some ditty about seeing the Night Mother again. Fontina let out an exhausted sigh as Nazir pushed himself from the wall.

"And so the Scythe strikes again. Word got around fast about your kill in Winterhold. Heard the Archmage is on a manhunt," he spoke, his rumbling voice taking care to draw his words out like dripping honey.

"I get the feeling that the Archmage isn't looking very hard."

Fontina smiled, dropping her Archmage robes on the long end table at the center of the room.

"Ha!" Nazir picked up the robes as quickly as they landed. "Want me to burn these for you? Or is there some sort of spell that'll turn me into a chicken if I tamper with them?"

"You can try. But if that does happen, I still have the Wabbajack. Might be able to turn you into something closer to human than a chicken. Perhaps a Daedra lord or at least a rabbit?"

"I can't wait." He chuckled, walking off to possibly test his luck with that notion.

A sinking feeling gripped at her stomach, as she pondered what she had to do. It was better to get unpleasant business out of the way before bedtime. At least that was what Farkas used to say, albeit not as eloquently. Every step she made drawing her ever closer to the Night Mother's quarters echoed with an ominous warning of what was to come. Fontina did not know what she would be told or what sort of explanation she would receive. The situation was certainly a unique one and guaranteed no easy answer.

Cicero scurried from one end of the room to the other at a speed almost unseen by the untrained eye. In his wake, he swiped a collection of items while muttering about their worth and importance under his breath. It was as though he was trying to rouse a memory of why he needed those things in the first place but the look of determination in his eyes signaled that his intention was clear. Why else would he need a vial of sacred oils and dried herbs? He wasn't known for his alchemy or his culinary prowess, so it only meant one thing. He was preparing for his weekly duties as Keeper.

Fontina crept into the room. Cicero made no indication that he noticed her arrival and simply continued to rush around the room, chanting and noting the various items. She let out a small cough to announce herself and he stopped dead in his tracks to turn to her. His eyes flickering in the dim torchlight were wide and bloodshot from their restless journey. For a moment, his irritation made him growl but any annoyance he had was made less visible as every emotion slipped from his expression.

"Do you need something?"

He addressed her in the calmest tone she'd ever seen from him. Surprised at his manner, she swallowed a lump in her throat before speaking.

"Shouldn't you be resting? We have come a long way." Fontina suggested with a twinge of concern.

"Mother needs a good rub down."

"About that…I need to see her."

Cicero paused and shook his head.

"So much to do. So much to prepare! No, you can speak to her afterwards."

"Cicero, this is important. I'd like to get this over with as soon as possible." She replied, herself both too tired and too anxious to wait around. A giddy, lopsided smile broke his calm façade.

"The Listener can stay and watch. That is, if you're into that kind of thing. Hehe…"

Fontina cringed.

"I'd rather not…"

"Oh! Well then, you can leave a message. There's no guarantee of a reply, but faithful Cicero will deliver it without delay! Oh yes, right as I take care of that…eh…insect problem. They really like to get all the way up in there!"

"As lovely as that sounds, I think I'll just…"

"But maybe you should stay! Yes! Then you can help me dig out all of these foul creatures! Eugh! They are ever so slimy! And they have this sticky goop that disgraces and defiles poor mother's skin! Cicero has to scrape it off before they lay their filthy eggs in her. Mother doesn't want to be a mother again, Cicero is sure.

Fontina cringed again.

"Let me know when you're finished."

She motioned to back out of the room to leave Cicero to his task, but a high-pitched echo invaded her senses. Her brows furrowed and she placed a hand against the doorframe to support herself from doubling over. Cicero noticed her condition and widened his eyes in wonder. So, the Night Mother had already sensed her. There was no turning back now.

"It has been a while, Listener," spoke the disembodied voice.

Despite the grotesque visage that was the Night Mother, her voice always lulled in her head with a delicate hypnosis. Such a voice that could inspire calm could also speak of most horrible acts of blood and pain. One wouldn't think that such a voice, so kind and comforting, would be the final judgment on whether a person lived or died. A mother's love tangled with a mother's betrayal.

"What did she say? What did she say! Tell me! Tell me!" Cicero squeaked, bouncing over to Fontina to pull at her arm in excitement.

The initial shock hadn't worn off but there was no use standing in awe of the power she was already sure the Night Mother had. Fontina shook him off and drew closer to the coffin.

"Most Unholy Matron…"

"I have seen that you have served Sithis well, child. The darkness that pools around your black heart fills me with pride. But there is something troubling you…"

Fontina bit her lip; silencing what would be a question she had hardship forming. Cicero cocked his head but contained his eagerness at the look on her face. Something was off. He just didn't know what, exactly. He backed away slowly and slipped out from the edge of the doorframe. He stayed close, however, just in case something happened.

"Just what do you intend to do?" was all Fontina was able to ask.

"I do what I always do. As I know you will do what you always do."

"It is difficult to slay a target one is particularly close to. Vilkas of the Companions insists I do away with…someone quite close."

"Oh?" The voice made an inflection of genuine surprise. Perhaps it was only mocking her.

"You say you are proud of me. You say I have done well. So, how is it then? That I should kill _Miura_ without doing away with myself?"

"You seem to be quite certain that both of you are the same person."

"But—"

"Dear Listener, where would you search for this target were you not so sure of her whereabouts?"

"The Dragonborn is well known in legend and song, but not so much by appearance. I would have to contact the Jarls who knew her. Possibly even the Greybeards. Very few know her by face. If that fails, I would start looking around Karthspire and surrounding camps."

"Then why do you pester me with such useless questions? Go. Search for her."

Fontina furrowed her brows in irritation. This talk of duplicity was only getting on her nerves. This wasn't a case of mistaken identity. There wasn't some other Miura who happened to be Dragonborn traipsing around Skyrim with a death wish.

"Is it my time to surrender to the Void?" she growled.

"Your fate is sealed as soon as you take action." The huge presence that engulfed the room in an uncomfortable haze began to fade. Fontina could hear a ringing in her ears as the Night mother's last words echoed away into a whisper.

"Take care to be quick about it. You are not the only one looking for her."


	10. The Dragonborn Travels to Ysgramor

**A/N:**I'm sorry! Please don't hate me! Thank you all for the reviews. You've all been wonderful people. I won't blame you if you decide not to read this fic anymore but…I can change, baby! I won't leave you ever again! I promise! Give me another chance! ;_;

Also, drama! Woo!

**Chapter Nine: The Dragonborn Travels to Ysgramor**

The firelight from Vilkas' torch was violently snuffed out by the harsh arctic wind. Vilkas and Miura had been traveling for hours upon hours. Their destination: the tomb of Ysgramor. The last thing Miura would have expected was Eorlund being able to repair Wuulfrad. She did not doubt his abilities, being that he was quite possibly the best blacksmith in Skyrim, but she was still wrought with a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

So this famed weapon could help Kodlak somehow? That was all the reason Vilkas needed to charge through the open, icy tundra to find out, and she had to admit that she was glad to be traveling with him once more. When they'd first set out, he barely gave anyone time to prepare, saying that what they were doing was 'for Kodlak' and that there was no time to waste. His misguided anger had been replaced with determination to fulfill Kodlak's last wish. The others naturally followed along with their own burning desire to see this through but the group had inconveniently been separated due to a run in with a few wraiths the night before.

Despite his feelings on the issue, Miura simply felt she needed to do her part. It was the only way she could think to atone for not being there for Kodlak when he needed it most. None of the other Companions were as hard on her as Vilkas was. In fact, many had praised her for bringing the witches' heads despite the folly it seemed to be. But to know that Kodlak may have been onto something after all eased Miura's heart just a little bit.

As she pondered this, the snow became thinner and thinner as the wind whipped her hair against her face. Vilkas had slowed his run before she could adjust her own pace and she slid freely against the ice under her. Vilkas quickly grabbed a hold of her arm and steadied her.

"Be careful. It's not safe ground to walk on. The ice could break and then…well, you know the rest."

His tone was guarded but a lot softer than she'd heard in what seemed like ages. If she dared to hope, it almost sounded like he was worried for her.

"I didn't notice." She whispered, mostly to herself. She should have noticed, considering where they were. It was just so difficult to keep up with Vilkas. The beast within him knew nothing of rest, as she herself could attest, but where her burden made her more tired his would push him to go harder. That was most likely the reason he'd ever agreed to become such a monster, but she could also tell that there was pain in his eyes. He wanted to rest, probably more than she did, but wouldn't allow it. Kodlak's wish was more important.

Miura continued to inch across the ice with Vilkas close by to make sure she didn't keel over. Both took care to look around for the colder brethren of the Sabre Cat that was known to stalk these parts. Miura winced. More cats. She'd seen some a little ways back but none seemed to stalk their path so far. It would be almost comical to try to fend one off on a slippery block of ice. Luckily, there were still none in sight.

"We may have to swim across at some point," Vilkas hissed as they approached the end of the land.

A vast expanse of ice water appeared through the snowy wind with very few drops of what looked to be land here and there. And then beyond was a much larger island with a much more noticeable structure. They were close, but not as close as Miura had hoped. Vilkas began maneuvering across to one solid-looking piece of ice and beckoned her to follow. For a while they continued to do this until the small bits of land ran out and there was a great gap of water between them and their next solid soil. Vilkas jumped first, muttering curses as he began to swim. He only slowed when he realized that no one was following him and shouted out until he saw Miura's lithe form sink into the water.

"There's a shrine there, of Talos. Imperials would have to freeze their blood to dare tamper with it," he bit through his chattering teeth. He wasn't sure if Miura has heard him, but he was sure she was still moving by the sounds of splashing behind him.

When both rose to the surface, the wind nipped at their wet forms. Miura was too cold for coherent thought, clutching at the soaked fur over her armor as if it could warm her like it once did. Vilkas seemed only slightly inconvenienced as he trudged through the snow to catch a glimpse around the rising path. Overhead was mighty Talos.

"Wraiths!" Miura suddenly shouted. Sharp icicles darted towards them.

Vilkas raised his weapon and hurled at the flickering crystal of ice. Miura only cringed as the blade went right through and inwardly groaned at the sight of two more coming closer. She didn't have an enchanted bow and not enough skill to create one. She didn't have the resolve that Vilkas had to blindly strike out at them until they fell. So, the next best thing was her own magic. She scowled. As much as she loathed doing this, it was sorry seeing Vilkas' strikes to nothing to the creatures. A warm glow surrounded her hands.

"Watch out!" She cried as she unleashed the first fireball. It exploded against the wraith, melting it instantly.

"What are you doing!?" he shouted, continuing to swing his blade around forcefully. There was only the sound of it clanking against the hard, cold creature. Two more fireballs whizzed past his head. The first fizzled out into nothingness but the other hit a wraith that was flailing around beside him. One to go.

Miura's fourth and final fireball hit the last wraith before Vilkas could express his anger and only fueled the flames of his disappointment. When he realized the threat was gone, he strode over to Mura and tightened his grip around her arm.

"Spells are for the weak. The elves use that stuff," he hissed.

"And they've become the most powerful of us all with their spells." She retorted, forcing her arm away from him. "Wraiths are weak to their counter-element. Unless I had one of those fancy enchanted weapons, there would've been not much else I could do."

"You could have shouted the thing to death. That's what the Dragonborn does, right?"

"That would be foolish! Fire was the only option. I did what I had to," she concluded.

Attempting to make her way ahead of him, Miura forced her feet though the untouched snow. Inches and inches built its way up from years of neglect. Not a soul had ventured here for a long time, she figured. But before she could gain a significant lead, she felt the point of a blade at her back.

"We don't need another battle."

"You can use whatever the hell you want as long as there's no magic." He stated in a low voice. Miura stiffened.

"Let's just go, Vilkas. We're almost there."

"Ah, so you are afraid. Typical."

Her eyes narrowed and she heaved a heavy sigh. This would bring them ever closer to nowhere and her wet clothing was already weighing her down. But it was clear Vilkas wouldn't back down. Miura turned around and pulled an axe that was strapped to her back.

"Prove yourself."

"We've done this before, Vilkas. We need to get to Ysgramor as fast as we can. This wind is hitting me like a shield to the face. If we don't get out of here soon, we'll freeze our fingers off."

She tried to reason with him but she knew that her reasoning only got her so far.

"It's always you and your damned spells. You hide behind them thinking that they give you real power," he sneered, slowly moving around her, waiting for his moment to strike. "The gods must have closed their eyes the day they allowed their blood run through your veins."

It hurt her to hear this. Every word hit her like an actual blow.

"Please, Vilkas. I don't want to fight you like this."

Before she could say any more, he rushed at her. The sheer force of his hit sliding her backwards through the snow. Her tiny axe could only hold so much of his force back and metal slid of off metal in the fierce wind. Vilkas tried to land another blow at her but she leaped back in time to avoid it. Ache burned at her arms as she raised her axe again. She could feel them weakening and tried to keep them steady as she sidestepped.

"I want you to show me whatever it was that Kodlak saw in you!" he cried, running towards her.

Others would blame it on the wind scratching ice and snow into her eyes. Kinder folk would say it was the weight of the water clinging though her clothes. But Miura knew it was he own weakness. Her axe flew aimlessly until it landed with a thud into the heaps of snow. Vilkas used his pommel to knock her to the ground.

"I yield! I yield!" she shouted. The tip of his blade lightly jabbed at her throat.

"Of course you do." He lowered his sword. Miura made no movement.

"I don't know why…huh…they chose me. I don't." she breathed, each breath ragged in the thin air.

A moment of silence passed between them. Ghostly whisperers of long dead heroes and the whipping wind provided the only sound in the cold wilderness.

"We'd better continue on. We're almost near the coast."

"Vilkas…I…"

Miura caught a brief glimpse of remorse on his unkempt features as he turned from her.

"I may have been too harsh with you. It wasn't fair of me. I'm sorry."

But he could not be as sorry as Miura.


End file.
